


Settling Suwa

by Aithilin



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Post-Series, Settling Suwa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 9,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all is said and done, and the children can finally settle into their own lives, Kurogane takes Fai with him to reclaim his homeland in Nihon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am clearly not affiliated with CLAMP in any way; all of these were originally posted to my Tumblr

Spring was a novelty. There were cycles of seasons in Celes– usually defined by the people as “growing” and “not growing”– but nothing like the steady tread of the four distinct seasons of Suwa. The first year settled in the very green, very open land, Fai had been fascinated by the spring. 

It was before they had finished rebuilding, having only arrived in the ruins of the town and manor when the mountain snows finally let them pass. The fields were overgrown, the trees were twisted and wild from years of neglect, roads were lost in the grass, and nature had started to break down what settlements had been started before there was a lord to guide them. But it was still cold, and frosted, and the winter winds from the mountains was still cold enough to bite at the small group of warriors and farmers who followed Kurogane and Fai. 

There were still blizzards and storms, cold rains and light snow. Just enough to make the work harder for a few months. Fai got used to the weather, joked that someone with such a sunny disposition as Kurogane, of course came from such dreary climate. But he showed the farmers how to till still-frozen ground, and how to keep the wood from cracking in the new ice with a few simple spells. 

Fai assume that there were only the two seasons he was used to. One to grow, and one to stay warm and survive. Regardless of what Kurogane said or how he teased. 

They were there for three months before the first buds appeared on the trees. No one had noticed them until small birds settled to peck at them, and built nests from the straw and cold grasses. It was three months before Fai noticed the change in the air and the streams flowing a little father than before. Or the land easier to work, and fresh grass growing by the cut roads and paths. Or the little colourful wildflowers struggling to take over every corner of the old garden. 

It wasn’t until he was cleaning up the shrine that he noticed the change in the air, and the warmer light filtering in through the cracks in the roof and walls. 

By then, Kurogane simply presented him with a freshly caught river fish, and a handful of fresh wild herbs and root vegetables, and grinned an “I told you so."


	2. Chapter 2

Suwa was not a dry land. There were rivers and lakes, glacial streams from the mountains and plenty of rain in the late winter. The province was more likely to flood than it was to suffer drought, but Fai still worried when the wet spring passed on to a much hotter, much brighter summer. 

There were enough people now to have regular patrols along the borders, to venture into the thick and wild forest that pushed up against the mountain range– where there was still plenty of game and plenty of monsters for young warriors hoping to impress Kurogane could go to test their skills. There were people to cut into the mountains to widen the fields, new farmers with new seeds from other provinces, and new skills and merchants and families to return life to the valley province. 

And there were enough people to demand festivals and celebrations. 

Fai found that the summer was the real source of life in Suwa. Everyone was busy in the mornings, and spent the evenings in the markets or by the nearest river. He helped build a shrine for the gods on the lake, and another at the edge of the forest– both opened with great ceremony and celebration. 

Even as he draped himself across Kurogane’s lap in the heat of the day with as much dramatic flair as he could muster – complaining about the burning sun or the terrible humidity– Fai decided that he liked the summer. It was like many of the worlds they had visited, with a bustle and energy throughout the day for work and chores, and the evenings dedicated to leisure. Everything was green and vibrant and happy. 

He flew kites with the children, swam in the lake with the young men testing their abilities to dive and take plants or stones from the mud of the lake bed (Fai set the standard for deep dives and fast strokes for the races they held), watched with the families while Kurogane tested the hopeful warriors and cheered with each new feat of skill or strength. There were fireflies at night, and strange new bugs and birds during the day, fishing competitions and festivals, travelling merchants and entertainers. 

It was hot, and sticky, and Fai found himself unable to sit still at the best of times, but Fai loved the summer in Suwa


	3. Chapter 3

Diplomacy was something he had to learn and work at to understand. He took lessons from Tomoyo’s tutor, observed the court– with all its frustrating little rules and intrigues– and tried to understand how a lord was expected to act. There was no plainly speaking his mind, or pointing out the obvious. There was no tuning out the tittering gossip nor rumours.

There was no obvious shielding himself or his family from enemies masquerading as allies or ambitious merchants and petty nobles looking to open trades that could hurt Suwa before the province even got back on its feet. 

So Kurogane had settled for watching Fai navigate the Empress’ court and charm the courtiers. Fai knew that he was different– that he seemed almost delicate and waifish next to Kurogane some days. Fai knew how to hide and lie, and defend what he cared about with a viciously clever tongue and mind. 

Kurogane was too honest for the dealings and gossip of an imperial court. 

It was different in Suwa. 

The ambitious merchants an scheming rivals had to visit on his terms, rather than corner him on unfamiliar ground. They came with the idea that he was a wild lord, a warlord looking for a fight, a demon spoiling to tear out a new land in an old province. 

Kurogane never gave much thought to who put those ideas in their minds, or how the gossip spread so far about him. Just that they came peacefully and treated him and Suwa with respect. 

And if he enjoyed watching Fai work his charm and weave little stories about how terrible and bloodthirsty the new Lord Suwa was– sometimes letting slip that he, himself, still had a bit of vampire behind his sweet smile and playful magic, if the visitor was arrogant enough– Kurogane never said. Instead, he took the visitors out hunting, or fishing, or on a tour of the farms, or to the festivals. Places where they would be expected to get the fancy silks and soft hands dirty. Where the people could stop and talk, and offer Kurogane fresh fruits or have him inspect new blades and arrows, while the visiting nobles watched with an increasing sense of discomfort. Where they saw that Kurogane had earned love and respect and loyalty that they could never have. 

Diplomacy had never been a strength of his; but he had kindness, honesty, and Fai around to play the diplomat.


	4. Chapter 4

When he realized that spring had come, he was out in the forest. It had snowed for most of the night– soft little flakes that never settled along the path that he had cleared. The hunters he had taken with him had stopped to admire the young deer making their way between the trees, still not used to people after the long years of Suwa being empty. They stopped at a small stream that fed into a much more turbulent river– banks swollen with run off from the mountains around them. 

When Kurogane realized it was spring, he had passed farms and fields still being dug out and remade. He saw young women who had followed their families airing out brightly coloured clothes, and children puling wood out from underneath the snow to build fences. He stopped to talk to some of the hired tradesmen brought in to discuss the gates and paint and a shrine near the lake and one in the mountains. He stepped around the flowers the youngest children were collecting, and stopped one boy from throwing stones instead of snow at the returning birds. 

He finally realized that winter was over when he got home and found Fai– all smiles and bright gold and blue– up the big tree in the garden. Surrounded by the first blossoms of the season while he stretched precariously across the branches.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Admiring the view, Kuro-rin! Come up and see! There are flowers and birds, and you can see the fields!”

“You can see that from the ground, you idiot.” But he climbed to see the early blossoms and the fresh buds, and see Fai admire the fresh look of the distant fields.


	5. Chapter 5

Sleep did not come easy in Suwa, in the early days. At least, not for Fai. There was noise, and heat, and all the strangeness that Kurogane was used to. He kept thinking about Suwa itself; about the farmers and their first crop, about the run-of from the mountains in the river, about the strange beasts that had been forced to the edges of the territory by the re-settlement. He was kept awake thinking about every disaster that could happen. 

And he thought about the kids in Clow. About the still-vague plans to open a link between them that could be maintained somehow. About Sakura assuming her place as the high priestess with both Yukito’s guidance and her mother’s. He worried that something would upset the easy peace that the children finally had. He worried that they would forget about him and Kurogane, now that they had their real, natural family with them.

For the first few months, the only way Fai could sleep through the night was if he worked himself to exhaustion. If he spent his days warding against flood, learning the rituals for a good harvest and easy land, if he ventured out with Kurogane to keep the beasts away from the farms until he could ward for those, too. He spent days helping the tradesmen, the merchants, the families. He kept house and helped in the training yards, studied the local magic and duties that were expected of him. 

He worked until he could sleep through the night and not worry. 

Kurogane knew, of course. He knew what Fai was doing, and he understood. The role he had assumed as the new Lord Suwa was one that he had been prepared for throughout his childhood, but not one he expected to ever take. The new responsibilities weighed on him as he compared himself to his parents, to the rivals he had met in the Imperial court. He wondered if he was doing it right, or if he should devote his time more towards the home. He wondered if riding out to fight demons and beasts and train his recruits was an indulgence or a necessity. 

But he also knew that he had a foundation in Suwa. The responsibilities and magics Fai had assumed were alien to the mage. He understood the fear Fai had of the responsibility– unable to shake the thought of his curses, and the promise of ruin that had followed him for decades– and the expectation to be swept up and continue on their journey any minute. 

So on the nights that Fai couldn’t sleep, Kurogane understood. He followed the mage out to the gardens, or training grounds, up to the rooftops or trees, and sat with him. Some nights they talked and reminisced, some nights they confessed the mutual fears. Some nights one pulled the other back to bed and they indulged in each other until dawn. 

Most nights, they just sat together with a drink between them, talking about how strange their new life was. 

It took months before the conversation eased from the foreign life they found themselves in, and towards how much of a home they were building.


	6. Chapter 6

“Did you expect this? When you were little?” Fai asked as they lay together in their rooms at Shirasagi palace.

It was halting, hesitant. Broken into easier sentences and each syllable carefully pronounced. The more complex words were the slowest, the least correct.

Kurogane didn’t think he could answer in terms that Fai would understand just yet. So he pulled the mage close and muttered: “no.”

***

“When you were a child, did you expect a future like this?” It was asked as they cleared scraps from the ruins of the Suwa manor late one night. The carpenters were yet to arrive with their builders, and the woodcutters were still clearing the overgrown roads with the warriors who could be spared. Mokona had gone with them, leaving Kurogane and Fai outside of her range of translation.

It was awkwardly phrased, the syllables more comfortable on Fai’s tongue now. He had practiced, attended lessons, took his time to understand how a phrase changed and what was assumed in context.

Kurogane assumed he still needed practice– that the question was too vague to answer: “no, not this.”

***

“What did the little Kurogane expect when he was a child?” Fai asked over dinner in the gardens. “Did you expect to reclaim your land and title? Or swear service to the princess and not the empress?”

It was summer now. The trees, crops, and land in full, thriving bloom. Kurogane was surprised at the ease of the question as Fai asked it, stealing noodles as he did. It was confident, precise, casual– he didn’t realize that Fai had become so fluent without Mokona around.

He hesitated before he answered, taking in Fai’s expectant look: “This wasn’t what I had expected, no.”

Kurogane smiled, scraping the rest of the rice he wouldn’t eat into Fai’s bowl, and stealing the mage’s meat and sake. “You just want to know what I was like as a child, don’t you?”

“Yes. Tell me.”


	7. Chapter 7

When it rained, his back hurt. His shoulder hurt. He checked and rechecked the protective coverings of his mechanical arm. When it rained– not a light, refreshing summer rain, but the torrential downpours that soaked him to the bone– Kurogane worried. He didn’t let it show, he soldiered through the pain and discomfort until he could get somewhere dry and warm again. 

He took the rain as a challenge. 

But he remembered the stinging acid of that desolate Tokyo on open wounds on his back. He remembered the crackle of Fai’s stolen magic feeling electric around him as he tried to shield the dying man from their adoptive son. He remembered what it was for blood to mix between them, and being powerless against just half of Fai’s magic as it took him by surprise. 

He remembered the warning that there might be permanent tissue damage because he followed the furious and hurt Fai out into the rain without seeking attention first. 

So when it rained, he remembered stinging drops and his back a map of blood and pain. 

When the rain was cold, he worried. 

He fidgeted with his sleeve, checked the seam where his arm met his shoulder. It was flawless, he knew. Just like skin. But there was a seam. And he understood that, even in Piffle, water was bad for mechanical things. And though he had gone swimming, bathing, played in the lake with the village children, he worried about the seam when it rained. 

Sometimes it hurt– where the points between metal and flesh met beneath the fake skin. In cold rain, it took a while for the heating to kick in properly and he Felt his arm go numb and dead for the first initial shock of it. Where the metal connections cooled for a second, before his own blood flooded the circulation system to keep it warm. 

In front of his men, he would roll his shoulder and grumble. But there was no fooling Fai. 

When it rained, Fai stayed close. He carried brightly coloured umbrellas and trailed after Kurogane while they walked the market. He stayed close with magic and bow to Kurogane’s left in battle– letting their enemies think that Kurogane shielded him with his dominant hand.

When it rained, and it was peaceful, Fai trailed fingers along the scars. He pressed lightly to find what hurt still, and what was a phantom. In the dry warmth of their rooms, he teased and played, and drew Kurogane out of his discomfort and worry. He took inventory of their little repair kit, to show Kurogane that they were ready if the arm failed. He had numbing herbs and healing potions from half a dozen different worlds to help with the scars. 

And Fai whined about the bad weather. Because Kurogane always forgot his own pains when alleviating those of others.


	8. Chapter 8

He had fought alongside Fai for years before they made it back to his Nihon. They had travelled for years before Syaoran had found what he needed and they were able to let the children find their own home together. He had watched as Mokona cried over their family separating in Clow, as she was comforted by Sakura– now an adult in her own right– urge her to look after Fai. 

He had seen Fai flirt and fight and learn the ways of the Nihon court within weeks of arriving. He had seen Fai adapt and change and find new masks for himself as their own adventure continued. 

It was years before Kurogane realized that he had never truly seen Fai in a peaceful setting. He didn’t know what hobbies Fai had, or what he had learnt in Celes for fun. He understood the soldier and the mage, understood that his lover was clever and quick, and could cut down any threat as easily with a few words as with one of his staves. 

He had seen Fai learning and studying– becoming used to the new magics of Nihon. Used to the new language when Mokona was swept up to play with Tomoyo’s ladies. He had seen the steel in Fai’s eyes when the priests refused to teach him their secrets and called him a foreigner. He had seen the confusion as nobles questioned his status for the same reason. 

But he knew that Fai had gone past the priests. He had taken up friendships with the mikos who could pass him their magics. He learnt where the scrolls– with their archaic words– were kept and made available. 

Kurogane knew that Fai saw the court and Nihon as a new battlefield for him to navigate. 

But Suwa was different. Where Fai had his own shrine to tend, and his own wards to build, and his own students. Where the threats of court and rivals and restrictions were a distant thought the stronger those wards got. 

Here, in peace, Kurogane found how much Fai had learnt on his own. He could see the mage in the gardens with books of poetry, or sitting with the children to listen to the stories of gods and spirits. 

Kurogane knew that Fai was clever, but he hadn’t expected the library that the mage had slowly amassed. He didn’t expect the quiet moments, pulling Fai to his chest as he listened to the blond read him poems and stories, and stumble over the hard kanji. He didn’t expect Fai to have so much joy in painting– careful brush strokes and more vivid colours than what was popular at the time– until their rooms were covered in the works. 

Kurogane hadn’t expected the quiet and the peace, and the way Fai could flow and melt against him like a contented cat. He knew Fai was kind, and clever, and more of a scholar than he was. But he had never expected to see that quiet side. 

He made gifts of new books and paintings as often as he could.


	9. Chapter 9

The pinwheels were his favourite. Fai loved them. As spring approached in Suwa, the little paper pinwheels started to pop up in the gardens and around town. Kurogane didn’t even know where Fai learnt to fold the damn things, or if it was some annoying hidden talent he always had. But they started to appear as soon as the winds turned and the snow started to melt. 

He expected the bright colours, to be honest. He remembered the little spinning decorations left at the shrine with dolls, next to the kites, or out by the lake where the proper children’s shrine was next to the temple– just aside the path. He remembered learning how to fold them himself with the other children when he turned seven, and spending a summer planting the damn things every where. 

It had been years since Kurogane saw them. He never thought he’d see the pinwheels lining the garden at home in Suwa again, or at the family shrine, or in the hands of children running through the village streets. 

He certainly never thought that he would be sitting with a little girl in the garden– a visitor from Clow, who looked so much like her mother that Kurogane wondered if cloning was a genetic trait– teaching her how to make the precise folds. Showing her where to tie the little stick, and how to keep it turning in the wind (which was, apparently, best from his shoulders). 

He certainly never thought that there would be a child he could call a grandchild sitting across from him on the grass, under the big tree, giggle at every new turn of the paper.

And he never thought that, while showing his adoptive granddaughter how to fold pinwheels of her own, he would look up to see Fai presenting their adoptive daughter with her birthday gift as they made plans to visit the orchards.


	10. Chapter 10

He remembers it being easy. Or at least, it had always looked easy. His parents rarely fought– if they ever did at all, he couldn’t remember it. His mother never had trouble managing the house, even as her magic tore her apart. His father always seemed to have time to run around with him, even after weeks away defending the villages. When they were together, there was never any anger, or exhaustion. His parents were kind, generous, strong, and respected each other.

Kurogane wondered what he was doing wrong. 

He loved Fai. There was no doubt about that. He loved Fai, and he trusted no one else with managing his home and land. 

He respected Fai. He knew the man to be a warrior, and clever, and kind. And to lose sight of all that Fai could be was to underestimate one of the most powerful magicians in existence. 

Loving Fai, being with him, wasn’t hard. It was easy, and natural, and Kurogane wondered how he would manage now if the mage left. They had their lazy mornings and playful nights– romantic gestures and soft reminders of each other. 

But they fought. 

And Kurogane didn’t know if that was normal. 

There were mornings when the teasing annoyed him. Evenings where Fai got snappish and pushed him away. There were days and weeks where they spent apart– Fai with his duties, Kurogane with his patrols– because being together in those days would bring down Suwa around them. 

There were days when Kurogane wondered if he had pushed too far; if he tried to slot Fai into an ideal that didn’t exist. He wondered if all that nonsense of fate and souls and love was just a story he let the children believe when they had nothing else to hope for on their travels. 

There were days when he wondered if Fai would still be there when he got home. 

Kurogane never remembered if his parents fought. If their disagreements were as volatile as their tempers, or if their pride refused to let the back away from an argument. He didn’t remember if his mother’s fury was ever turned on his father, or if his father used his training as an excuse to cool down from a battle of wills.

But he remembered the relief on his father’s face when he’d return home to his family. He remembered the ways his mother softened when she saw him returning, even if she had been furious for days before. He remembered the soft greetings and whispered words between them, though he had been too preoccupied with getting his father’s attention to care much.

Coming home after a few nights away to calm down after an argument, Kurogane understood those looks and soft words. He understood why his father reached out to his mother like she was a dream that might disappear. He understood those embraces and deep breaths, and the way his parents apologized in looks and acts rather than words. 

Loving Fai was easy.


	11. Chapter 11

Love was complicated. He knew that much. He was made to understand that early– it came with strings and conditions, was twisted by fate and made unreal. 

Fai didn’t remember his parents. He remembered Valeria as ice and stone, with an unyielding king and distant adults. He remembered standing alongside his brother. Meeting his uncle under formal guard, clutching at his brother as their lives spiralled out of control around them. 

He remembered loving Fai. 

He understood that love came with promises and expectations. Where kindness was attached to the wishes of others and something, eventually, was expected of him in the end. No matter how much he tried not to impose. 

Fai wondered when Kurogane was going to make his expectations known. 

He knew that Kurogane wasn’t like his blood family. There was no superstition of fear– Kurogane didn’t fear anything, it seemed. He didn’t withhold his affections, didn’t look for omens where there weren’t any. 

And Kurogane wasn’t like Ashura. He thought. Kurogane didn’t seem the type to make impossible wishes, or use people like tools. He didn’t hide his intentions. 

Kurogane loved freely and easily. 

Fai wondered when something would go wrong. When he would be used or expectations would be revealed. He wondered when this love would stop being so easy. 

He wondered when Kurogane would realize that Fai was hard to love.

Love was complicated, and Fai was wary of it. But until his bad luck took over, he wasn’t going to question the comfort and ease of loving Kurogane.


	12. Chapter 12

The language barrier seemed impossible at first. There were a few words and phrases, if spoken slowly and carefully, that he could still remember from Yama. There were sounds that seemed vaguely familiar, and intent behind them that helped him understand what the damn mage wanted. 

But Fai’s mother tongue was basically just a mash of hard sounds and strange syllables to Kurogane. And it was worse when the idiot switched languages. 

Valerian flowed, but sounded harsh and angry. It had hard stops and guttural rolls. It seemed harsh, and cold, but it rarely left Fai’s lips. Kurogane was glad for that, at least. He preferred the language of Celes, though they seemed to be the same at first. 

It was still different. Full of strange inflections and syllables that Kurogane thought sounded jagged and raw, mouth opened unnecessarily wide to fit around the harsh rhythm of Fai’s quick speech. 

He had stumbled across Fai teaching it to Syaoran once, during the children’s annual visit. Heard the careful repetition from the young man as he tried hard to follow Fai’s lesson. 

He heard it when Mokona went off to play with Fai’s students, or to pester the merchants in town. When Fai had stepped out of range of their little translating family member to practice his Japanese. 

He heard it when Fai skipped from humming to himself during quiet work, to letting snippets of song slip out. When Fai’s Japanese failed him and he pointed to something and asked for it by– what others thought– was a nonsense syllable. That it was a show of mild frustration while the clever foreigner tried to speak properly. 

He didn’t realize that there was a pattern or language behind it, until he handed Fai an apple at lunch one day after hearing the questioning “apfel?”

After that, Kurogane sat Fai down and demanded lessons. If the mage could learn Japanese to work alongside him in Suwa, Kurogane decided it was only fair to learn how to speak with the blond in his own language from time to time.


	13. Chapter 13

The first time it happened, Kurogane thought it was a mistake. Only Fai didn’t make those kinds of mistakes. They had been rushed to get dressed— Syaoran was almost through the door— and Fai had grabbed the first article of clothing within reach. That it was Kurogane’s tunic— all darker colours and a starker contrast from what Fai usually chose to wear— didn’t matter. 

The second time it happened, they were hardly rushed, and Kurogane had indulged himself in watching Fai select clothing from their tiny closet. Fai was organised— he knew where everything was and should be, and what was his by innate sense that Kurogane didn’t have. Fai never had to actually look at his selection to know it was his. So when he pulled on one of Kurogane’s sweaters— the knit sleeves easily covering Fai’s hands, and the shoulders far too loose— Kurogane was suspicious. 

“What are you doing, mage?”

“Getting dressed.” Fai had errands. He had work in this world, and there were errands to run that were just easier for him to complete. So he smiled, tied back his hair, and ran out the door in Kurogane’s too-big sweater. 

It became a habit. 

Kurogane dropped clothing by the bed they shared. Fai picked it up in the morning. He slipped into the warmer wools and cottons right after they were washed. He threw on robes in the darker colours Kurogane favoured when they had to rush to leave in the morning. Even in worlds where social standing was defined by what they wore, he pulled on Kurogane’s decorations with a grin and chirped reply that they were, technically, born in the same social standing anyway— it was hardly his fault if the world they were in thought Fai looked more noble and Kurogane more like a bodyguard. 

Syaoran had learnt not to question it. Especially when he walked into their shared apartments, with Mokona happily singing on his shoulder and an arm full of groceries, to find Kurogane in a state of mussed undress and Fai grinning in an over-sized shirt. 

In Suwa, Kurogane didn’t question it when Fai slipped into his more casual clothes. When he picked a cool yukata that was too broad in the shoulders and had to be wrapped twice to stay properly closed. Or when Fai pulled on a hanten bearing the Suwa crest before going out to fetch fresh water from the garden when the weather turned cold. He didn’t think anything of Fai whining about the colours he chose or the way it didn’t go with his complexion. He thought nothing of the way Fai simply challenged the strange looks wearing the lord’s clothes got him with calm smiles.

Kurogane didn’t know when it became a regular habit for Fai, or how it could even happen when Fai was the more organised and military strict between them. 

But he could certainly admit that he enjoyed seeing it. The way his clothes seemed to wrap around Fai’s scrawnier limbs. The way one shoulder always needed pulling up, because Fai was solid, but Kurogane was broad. And the way that, if they were just taking a few moments to relax, the way Fai seemed to curl into the too-big clothes and take a deep breathe. Or smile when the wind struck the right way. 

And Kurogane could certainly admit that he enjoyed peeling the fabric from Fai later. He knew his own clothing— every twist and layer that needed to be moved, and how it could slip a certain way. How it flowed when pushed down narrower shoulders and opened to his much more practised hands. He liked how the neckline dipped lower on Fai, how easily silks and soft cottons moved on him. 

How his scent was already on Fai’s skin as he peeled away the fabric later.


	14. Chapter 14

Kurogane had many different types of smiles. All of them wild. 

He grinned as he tested his recruits, showing pride and pleasure with a twist of his lips or a baring of his teeth. He grinned in battle, tearing through enemies like they were nothing but a mild inconvenience between him and his goal. Those grins were confident, assured, wild and beastly. They were what his enemies talked about before battles and what the survivors reported back with – the wild lord of Suwa with his bloodthirst and inhuman strengths. 

He grinned when playing with the children of Suwa and Fai’s students, picking them up easily as he recruited them for chores and errands. As they laughed and shrieked in joy around him as he lifted them to his shoulders and carefully tossed them around. His grin was calmer with them– hardly the beast of legend– even as he raced them up trees and into the rivers. 

His smile was soft when he held his little adopted granddaughter when the children visited from Clow once a year. The little girl bright and bubbly as she climbed his legs and demanded he hold her high. His smile with her, with her mother and father,was one of peace and calm. With them he laughed freely and openly, at ease with his family and finding joy with them all together again. 

With Fai, he cycled through them all. 

There were days and nights when he smiled– calm and at peace– as Fai pressed against him or cuddled in his lap to practice his reading with complex stories or old poetry. When he pressed kisses to Fai’s hair as the mage stumbled over an archaic reading, or a strange combination that needed to be explained. 

Smiles for when he can’t believe that he has his family, and his home, and can keep his promise to his mother. 

There are days and nights where he grins, playful and joyous, as he plays Fai’s games. As they tease each other or he chases Fai across the garden with idle threats. While Mokona cheers for Fai’s escape and giggles at Kurogane’s accusations of betrayal. 

And there are nights when his grin is wild and challenging as he presses Fai against blankets and bed. As Fai pins his hands and grins back. As they challenge each other for the first kiss and the last piece of clothing. As they laugh and bite and nip and kiss.


	15. Chapter 15

The easiest way to disarm people was with a smile. Fai had learnt that on the journey with the kids. He hadn’t put much stock in himself at the time. He smiled because he wanted to help, to ease the betrayal, take some edge off his own fear that he’ll be caught or unable to keep his promise to his brother. 

Before he was free, he smiled for other people. It wasn’t his own. Nothing was. 

Now, he smiled freely. He laughed and grinned with Kurogane; smiled between kisses and made no show of holding back his teasing grin as they sparred on Suwa’s training grounds. He laughed easily and played with Mokona in the sun and fields. There were soft smiles as he set about his duties, as Kurogane came home and wrapped sore arms around him in greeting. There were wide, exaggerated grins as he explained magic to his students or tested the young men and women Kurogane recruited for his troops. 

Now, in the peace of Suwa, as he built his home around him, his smiles were his own. 

But those peaceful expressions were very different than the smiles used to greet visiting nobility and rivals. 

He learnt the technique in Yama, when he played mute to Yasha’s army. Men with weapons didn’t know what to do when someone smiled at the face of danger. They were left uneasy when a quiet, small man, simply smiled at their threats and posturing while the much larger, more threatening companion grumbled. 

A smile– calm, peaceful, unarmed, cold– could disarm a warrior. Or a noble hoping to show his power and wealth.

But those smiles were far less frequent now. And Fai preferred it that way.


	16. Chapter 16

He didn’t know that the enchantments Fai cast were out of habit. He hadn’t thought there was magic in the clothes Fai wore, or that it was just something he did naturally— something from his childhood or youth, a technique to practice magics that weren’t just for war and defence. He didn’t know that there was anything different about the scarf he grabbed on his way through the door until he sensed Fai’s aura on it. Until he felt as though i was Fai’s warmth pressed around him, and his magic wrapping securely around his whole form to ward off the chill of the dreary winter in this new city they had found. 

Kurogane had just been on a rush out the door to get medicine at the shop for Fai’s flu and Syaoran’s chill. He had taken the scarf at Fai’s insistence on his way out— obeying on instinct as he tried to remember the name of the medicine Syaoran had told him they’d need (really, if they just had more juice in the morning, instead of milk and coffee and that sweet cereal, they wouldn’t have gotten sick). It wasn’t until he braced himself for the first gust of cold air out the door that he realised there was something different. The wind had stopped, it wasn’t funnelled through the streets like a wind-tunnel, it didn’t take his breath away in a sudden chill. But he was busy and rushed and worried, so he didn’t think of it as he hurried off to the store. 

The next world was colder. It was flat, and cold, and there was nothing there but ruins. The sun never seemed to set, and there was nothing but cold, blue sky, and dead white ground. He worried for Fai there. 

But their first not-night, spent in the ruins to shelter from the wind, and huddled close to a conjured fire as Syaoran tried to scout around them, Fai lamented the loss of his fluffy coat from Celes. Kurogane’s had been ruined in their escape— and Tomoyo had done what she could to fix it— and Syaoran was bundled up already. This time, Kurogane watched as Fai wove his magic around the dark coat Kurogane wore before cuddling close under it. The wind stopped, the fire was warmer, and Kurogane muttered about magic while Fai hummed happily. 

He saw it again in Suwa. During their first winter with students running around the manor. He saw Fai crouch over the children and weave magic into mittens sent from Piffle and scarves sent from Clow. He watched as Fai explained the magic to his students who were older, laughing as they practised on scraps and set them alight instead. He watched as Fai— so skilled in the magic of war and battle, and still learning the more passive magics innate in Nihon— pass on an old trick for warmth. A trick that he clearly used often enough to cast without thinking, having to slow his movements and work down to teach it by steps. One that probably warmed countless kind guards in Celes was he was just a child. Or warmed a cold brother in a loveless palace.

And he tried not to think of why such a trick may have been necessary in his life.


	17. Chapter 17

It was rare for Kurogane to be up and about first. 

Kurogane had grown used to waking up when it was still dark, when the air was still fresh and crisp, and the promise of a long day of rain or sun was still ahead, and Fai was still out of bed before him. He would be dressed and seeing to breakfast, or out in the garden to check on the medicinal herbs and grasses he was trying to grown domestic (so they didn’t have to go searching in the fields and forests in an emergency). There were chores to do, the shrine to tend, he had to practise at the archery fields, make sure his students didn’t oversleep. 

Kurogane knew that it was habit, that Fai was used to moving in the dark and dawn, and that he liked to get his work started. 

Kurogane knew that Fai wanted to be helpful. 

So he took his morning kiss where he could. As he shoved his trainees onto the training field, he would steal a kiss from Fai on the archers’ range. As he herded Fai’s students away from the breakfast table, he ignored the barely muffled giggles as he pulled Fai to him before their day’s really got underway. As he left before first light to go for a run around the village border— a habit picked up on the peaceful worlds they had visited, where regular training was limited to single rooms with alien equipment— he would give Fai a peck on the cheek as they crossed paths in the kitchen. He would always pull Fai close, smile as the mage leaned in to him in expectation of the affection, make it quick and easy so he didn’t distract his lover if Fai was busy with something delicate. 

Kurogane knew that it was an easy sort of affection, and his life was now built around his responsibilities as a lord as well as his family. 

But every so often, Kurogane would wake up early to feel the clear morning air blowing in through an open garden door. He would see Fai wrapped in one of his discarded shirts or robes leaning against the solid frame and watching the birds as the sun rose. He could hear the distant life of the newly revived Suwa well beyond the walls, still sense the magic that warded the lands and buzzed around the group of students Fai had adopted into their home. He could feel the calm of his homeland and the peace that came with resettling. 

But more importantly, on those mornings when Fai waited for him to wake— when he slowed down his burning energy and pushed a few of his duties aside— Kurogane could sense him. Could see the mage and feel his aura properly, reassuring him that Fai was there, his life was here. Right in front of him. 

On those mornings, Kurogane pulled Fai close and Fai easily fell against him. And it was Fai who offered the first kiss of the day. Something slow, and grateful, and at peace.


	18. Chapter 18

The nights were not hectic. The nights were not busy, rushed things where they had to chase after final chores or shoo energetic children to bed. Kurogane’s night training lasted until midnight, and it was only for the best of his recruits for now. Fai’s evening duties and classes in the shrine stopped at sundown, because he had learnt that young minds listened during the day and wandered at night. The markets closed and shops locked up before dark, so all errands and chores had to be finished before then. 

It was a routine now.

Kurogane put in his long days, his long mornings and busy afternoons. He saw to the farmers and village, and trusted Fai to take care of the running of Suwa while he worried about the defence. He let Fai plan the festivals as they came, as he heard complaints and problems among the people he was looking after. He helped Fai muddle through the delicate nature of religion in Suwa, and smiled as the people they were serving simply smiled and told Fai that they didn’t expect the gods would be angry if he didn’t know everything. 

They ended their days together, watching stars in the garden or wrapped around each other in bed. Fai laughed freely as he visited the training grounds to save the recruits from Kurogane’s tasks— teasing Kurogane away from his duties until the bemused young warriors were dismissed as their lord chased the lord consort around. Kurogane pulled Fai up to the roof or up to the trees to watch the lights in the village go out so they could count the stars. Fai danced with Mokona in the sudden and hard rains in summer while Kurogane swore not to take care of them if they got sick. They ate dinner beneath trees, sparred together on the training fields, and escaped whatever stresses the days had put on them. All in the few hours where they had the world to themselves. 

Fai loved the night. He played and laughed, and kissed Kurogane before tearing off across the fields. He pushed Kurogane against walls and bed and grinned his challenge, only to laugh and run off when he left his lover breathless and aching. He teased Kurogane for his sweet words as they lay in bed, and shone bright when the moon was out and shining. He pulled Kurogane up trees with a grin, and balanced on the garden walls like an acrobat. 

But it was the last kiss of the day that Fai seemed to live for. He drew it out, made it sweet, made it the last in a long series. No matter how breathless they were, no matter how tired or satisfied, it was Fai’s kiss. It was after all the whispered and shouted words of love; after the teasing and games. 

The last kiss of the day, always Fai’s, left Kurogane smiling and at ease in his bed.


	19. Chapter 19

He had never expected to grow old. To see his reflection and see streaks of grey shot through at the roots. To ache when it rained (which seemed to be a lot), or or to relinquish training to the younger men he swore he just recruited the summer before. He never expected to see children grow up before him, or have a little girl who used to ride on his shoulders when she visited from her desert homeworld grow up to a young woman before his eyes. He never expected to slow down, to get tired so early in the day, and let others take his position on patrols. 

Frankly, Kurogane also never saw himself resettling and rebuilding Suwa, or living very long at all. 

He had never thought he would see streaks of silver in Fai’s hair, or laugh lines and phantom smiles. 

Hell, they were hardly that old, really. Maybe Fai was, but he certainly wasn’t. 

It was winter when he noticed it most. When he was called off to Tomoyo’s court (now a powerful woman in her own right— an adviser to her sister, a priestess to her people), the first frosts had finally turned the grasses brittle and sharp, easy to tramp down as the horses grew impatient to leave with the few men he was bringing with him. Fai saw him off, smiling and teasing, and promising a warm bed to come back to when his business was done. Fai promised him peace in Suwa and a short winter. 

Kurogane knew that Fai would have everything under control. That he was born to lead, and protect, and the silver that made his hair shine even brighter— made him look more like the ice prince of some legend they had heard in their long-past travels— was just another crown he would refuse to acknowledge. 

He couldn’t help but kiss that familiar smile before he left. 

Court was boring and the road was long but Tomoyo had promised him something of interest. A gift, a quest, some new task that she thought was a great favour and he thought was just another annoying game. But there would likely be new silks for Fai, or books for his ever-stronger students. 

He certainly hadn’t expected to see two young boys with familiar blue eyes. Two shy, haunted young boys. Who bowed politely and stared at him with wary curiosity. Who shuffled quietly behind Tomoyo as she explained that the twins had been brought to her by a priest of one of the temples she didn’t visit as often as she should. Twin boys who showed an exceptional skill in magic not native to Nihon’s own unique breed. 

Boys who needed a teacher who could help them control the power they had and could only grow stronger. 

Kurogane almost refused. Thought that it would pain Fai to see them, to teach them. Thought that he couldn’t bear the responsibility of trying to keep the twins safe and his own Fai from reliving his own horrors that were so long ago. 

He crouched to tell them as much. To scare them with a glare enough for them to beg to stay with the princess, to swear to be her family instead. He crouched to tell them, on their level, that he couldn’t love them too, couldn’t bear to think of the pain that they might bring his most precious person. That he couldn’t care for them as he should. So he stooped low, and glared. 

Neither boy drew back. Neither flinched under his glare. 

One giggled softly— quickly hiding against his brother— and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘grumpy’.

They couldn’t have been older than four. Maybe five. 

The other shushed the giggles and squeezed his brother’s hand tightly, but stood taller under Kurogane’s attention. 

Fai was going to kill him. 

“Which one of you is Fai, and which one is Yuui?” The way the blue eyes widened in surprise was satisfying. He never had the upper hand with his own Fai. 

Kurogane had never thought he would grow old. Never thought he would rebuild his family’s land. Never thought he would have a family as he did. He never thought that he would have done his parents proud or honoured his mother’s dying wish. He never thought that he would have found someone to protect Suwa by his side, or make it stronger than he ever remembered it being 

But he wasn’t someone to shy away from the truth of the matter. He was not a liar, or cruel, and certainly not as incapable of love as he once thought. 

He needed heirs anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that's it for this particular fic! 
> 
> I really appreciate all the wonderful comments and readers and kudos. Thank you! 
> 
> I will always be taking prompts at my Tumblr an Dreamwidth, too!


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up to a handful of requests for a bit more about the twins, so here's a little epilogue! Please enjoy!

No one questioned it as he loaded the twins onto the little cart they had brought from Suwa to carry supplies. As he secured them safely and told them to keep from falling off, and to jump out and run to the nearest forest if they were attacked along the road. No one questioned as he grumbled at the twins when they didn’t listen, as they sat right at the edge of the cart to watch the rocks that passed under them, or begged to stop at a big river so they could see the fish. 

No one questioned when Kurogane huffed, but halted them, and showed the boys how to patiently tie out fishing lines while the camp was set. As he crouched next to two small boys who looked surprisingly like the Lord Consort, and answered the many questions they had. 

It was easy to say that the gods had sent their own. That the Lord Consort was a heavenly being himself, and that the young twins were his own children. It was easy to say that they were the children of the Inari, with their wheat-gold hair and sky-blue eyes, and the simple magics that they could conjure from small hands. The Inari always come in two’s anyway. 

It was easy, in this case, to let the superstitions spread. Because divine lineage and Kurogane’s acceptance of them would protect them better than any of their own magics could right now. 

Kurogane knew that Fai would find the switch from his own childhood both amusing and painful. 

But no one questioned the adoption, and Kurogane knew that the word will spread throughout Suwa that his heirs were made of the same magic as his lover. And that was enough. 

By the time they reached Suwa again, the boys had demanded to ride with Kurogane. To climb to his shoulders and cling to his hair. To sit in front of him on his horse, and ask about every gate and farmer and forest and shrine they passed. They laughed, and giggled, and spent their nights sharing the same blanket while Kurogane kept watch over them, more at ease now that the boys were smiling and talking and giggling as he chased them to gather them up to keep moving. 

By the time they reached Suwa, he had sent a messenger ahead to tell Fai about the twins. 

He sensed, more than saw, the boys’ confusion at the sight of one of their own— one of their own souls standing before them, smiling and much, much older. He sensed their unease and curiosity as his own Fai stooped down to greet them, as he nearly laughed when they shuffled to hide behind Kurogane’s cloak and whisper about this new phenomenon. 

He tried not to worry as his Fai took the twins to talk before dinner. 

Kurogane didn’t know what Fai would explain to them. If he would tell them about the different worlds, the different souls, his own destroyed worlds and failed homes. If he would ask them about how they came to be in a temple and then in the princess’ care, if it was a story he would want to share later. Kurogane didn’t know if the twins would be okay with the strangeness of the situation, or if he would explain the tragedy of his own losses. 

He never doubted that Fai would take in the boys as he had. 

—

By the time the boys were ten, they had met their adoptive siblings, met the family that reached out across other worlds. Mokona was their constant companion, and where they were, she wasn’t far behind to encourage their troublemaking. 

They trailed after Fai in the shrine, and sat with him in the garden to practice their magic. They filled the gardens with little shining butterflies and birds, and folded pinwheels every spring with Kurogane’s careful guidance. They planted flowers and fetched new sprouts in the fields, climbed the trees with Kurogane until they could see the distant fields full in summer or steal fruit from orchards while Kurogane eased the trouble by paying the farmer while the boys fled with their prizes. They played with Fai in the winter— built snowmen and threw snowballs at guards who hurled them right back. They chased Mokona through the market streets and spent quiet evenings reading to her in the garden. They rode high on Kurogane’s shoulders and struggled to help him carry things out to the training fields, learning what each piece of weaponry did or could do. 

Fai taught them all the nicknames for Kurogane, showed them games, and told them stories. He played with them and taught them, and kept the boys close. Even as they chased after Kurogane and begged him to join their games. 

The twins were never apart. 

Until one morning when one trailed after Kurogane to the training fields. 

Yuui was the smiling one— the one who eased the steel in his soul with pleasant smiles and a strong command. He was kind and calm, and trailed after his big brother Fai as the more boisterous boy danced and played, and chased around the manor. Yuui was the one with patience and resolve, his eyes a bit harder, his soul a bit more torn, his magic more aggressive. He was the smaller of the two, more solid between them. 

“Oi, back to bed.”

“I want to learn.”

“Learn what, brat?” Kurogane knew. Knew that his own Fai had the same look, the same steel, the same urge to do right and protect what had protected him. But he also remembered making his own early morning trip out to the fields after his own father and demanding the same teachings. But he had been bigger than the twins at the same age— lanky like all children, but still bred for his role as warrior and leader. “Back to bed.”

The boy already had a training sword. Fai had started to teach them archers and quick attacks that were better suited to their frames and energy. But Yuui had liked to watch Kurogane’s recruits more than focus on his own training. 

“No. I want to train.”

Kurogane knew that look. Knew that there was no turning the boy away, no sending him back to his brother. He was too old to send back to bed, and no doubt that his twin was already pestering Fai to help in the kitchen, too. 

“It’s hard.”

“I know.”

“You’ll be tired.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to follow in my footsteps.”

“I want to.”

Kurogane frowned at that. “Why?”

“Because I’m your son. And you’re my father.”


End file.
